


Confluence

by HandsomeManExpress (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood Drinking, Multi, Succubi & Incubi, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/HandsomeManExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural beings all have their own rhythms--but sometimes those rhythms collide deliciously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confluence

 Blood calls to the licking tongue, and lust calls to the hungry heart, and the moon calls to all wolves the way it calls the tide, and everything has a rhythm, and the rhythms are slightly off-set, circling each other like wary beasts but almost never touching.

 _Almost_ never.

 _Sometimes_ touching, with a synchronicity both rare and perfect. Blood and lust and the inconstant moon.

Which makes for one hell of a night.

* * *

 

Dean is _whining._

Not in complaint, or in irritation or in rage. It's the high-pitched sound of _desperation,_ coloring every ragged breath out with desperate animal need as the moonlight through the window silvers his hair and illuminates the sweat beading his skin. The moon is _almost_ full, on the very cusp of its waxing cycle—one day more and this wouldn't be possible, but _tonight_ the moon fills Dean with the kind of wild energy that makes _everyone_ want to take him down.

He smells good enough to eat or _better,_ the finest meal in the _world,_ and Seth's hands are handcuffed to the bedpost behind his back so he can't even get a _sample._

“You taste _so good._ ” Roman's behind Dean, holding the smaller man bracketed between his legs, his arms around Dean's chest and stomach and his face pressed against the side of Dean's neck. “Mm, I just...”

“Fuck, Ro, you're _killing_ me.” Dean takes another harsh breath and shudders back against Roman's chest, bucking in a desperate plea for stimulus. “I'm gonna die, and it'll be your fault, _please—_ ”

“I'm killing _you?_ ” Roman laughs against his throat and then glances up, catching Seth's gaze. His pupils are blown _wide;_ his eyes no longer have whites, they're just dark wells. “Look at our boy over there, how d'you think _he's_ feeling?”

Seth shifts to ease the ache in his legs, he's been kneeling on the end of the bed for what feels like _ages,_ and says as levelly as he can, “I hate you both.” He can't even close his _mouth,_ his fangs itch so much. “Let me _go,_ I need to—”

Roman growls, with unexpected sternness, _“Wait.”_

The sound of his voice, the smell of _him,_ hits Seth right in the gut, and he goes silent. He can feel the moonlight on his bare skin.

 _“Roman._ ” There's that needy whine in Dean's voice. _“Please.”_

“Ssh. I've got you.” And Roman pitches forward and takes Dean with him. Rolls his hips against the man beneath him. Murmurs in Dean's ear, “Good boy.”

When Roman bites the back of his neck, Dean _howls._

And there they are, right at Seth's knees, Roman has Dean pinned to the mattress and Seth hungers and _wants_ and can't reach them. He can only strain towards them and salivate and breathe in the heady, potent scent of their blood.

“Just a little more, Seth.” Roman sounds almost drunk, the black holes of his eyes unfocused. “Not much longer to wait, baby, just a _little_ more before we're yours.” Dean thrashes beneath him, so out of his mind with the sensation that he's _yipping._ “Both so good to me. My _boys._ ”

Dean shudders, bares his teeth, clawing holes in the sheets and coming with a lupine snarl.

Roman looks up at Seth, and even as he's still moving against Dean he slurs, “Come get us.”

The cuffs break as soon as Seth tugs on him. He could have done it at any time, but it would've been _rude_ (and who knows, maybe Roman was going to unlock them for him, it _would_ have meant that he wouldn't have to manage the metal bracelets cold on his wrists, short lengths of chain still hanging from them).

He buries his teeth in Roman and lets the blood coat his tongue like wine, and only comes up for air when Roman drags him off and pushes him towards Dean.

* * *

 

Roman, being nominally the “responsible” one—or at least the one who's had the most time to digest—is also the one who disappears briefly from the bedroom and comes back with water and a couple of damp towels. He also brings a ham sandwich, which he dangles above Dean's head until Dean tackles him for it.

“ _Protein,_ you fucker.” Dean tears into the sandwich with a back-of-the-throat growl. “Had _both_ of you eating me, I need _protein, give_ it. And I need to _run._ ”

“Full moon's tomorrow.” Seth presses his face against Dean's side, his arms around Dean's waist, sleepy and full and not bothering to wash the rest of the blood off his skin until Roman forces him too. “Plenty of running. You should let me bite you more often.”

As soon as everything's been distributed Roman collapses on Dean's other side, mirroring Seth's pose and muttering against Dean's ribs, “I'm going to sleep now, wake me up next week. Don't get crumbs in the bed.”

Dean just takes another massive bite of his sandwich and says, with his mouth full, “If I didn't just come, like, three times, I'd feel like I was getting the short end'a the stick here.”


End file.
